Running from the Inescapable
by Breathe Through Corrupt Lungs
Summary: I gasp, he groans. Perhaps I was the reason he began to smile more. Perhaps he was the reason I let go of what once was. Perhaps we were the reason we continued to breathe, despite heaving through corrupted lungs. And it's because of us that the blood still rushes to our cheeks, that our feelings are not dead and gone. Derek smiles more, and it's because of Chloe. He tells her why.
1. Chapter 1

**"And you know that she'll break you in two" — watch?v=m53cWa-CdUg**

* * *

I lay in bed unable to fall asleep as my mind constantly replays the events of the day. Kit decided it was time we learned to control our powers after the unfortunate events of Tori burning her heatless-ly prepared cereal and me raising a rat corpse to breakthrough his bedroom's flooring in my sleep. Derek attacked a mad man on the streets for threatening to show me "why he ended up on the sidewalk" and Simon scrambled all of Aunt Lauren's files with a summoned gust of wind.

But controlling our powers was entirely different than simply using them. Kit told me to raise only the head of a dead rabbit but as I attempted to suppress the urge that rushed through me as natural as blood, the power took me under as I willed the corpse of the rabbit beneath.

I fell into strong arms, Derek's I realized when he began to frantically call for Kit and Aunt Lauren. And as he picked me up the last thing I saw was the rabbit's rotting head impaling the soft bed of grass.

_I wake to the golden lights of sunset muffled by oppressing clouds, the only perk Simon claims of moving across the country to a lonely town in Washington. I sit up to find Derek asleep on the floor, his head resting near my feet on the couch, his body painfully curled between the couch and coffee table._

_He's most vulnerable in sleep, one of the only times the defensive furrow between his brows is down. His face hints not anger but sadness, and I've tried so many times to erase the signs to no avail but small smiles. He does however recently smile more, from the mornings he prepares breakfast for the house to dusk when I meet him on the roof to watch the sun fall behind the horizon. Recently, it's become harder to breath._

_Before the twilight breaks, I thread my fingers through his hair, waking him. He jolts awake, the furrow taking residence, his fingers curling in the blanket at my feet. _

_"Chloe," Derek says, hoarsely. The crease that marks him disappears. "Are you alright?"_

_I stare at him, at a loss for words. Quickly I nod, color flooding my cheeks. A blush stains his as he bows his head, scratching the back of his neck. He looks to the glass wall, facing away from me, "It's nice that the clouds haven't covered the sun." He turns to me, a shadow of a smile on his lips."Do you want to—"_

_"You're awake!" Aunt Lauren barges into the room, "Chloe's awake!" She calls upstairs."You didn't hit you head did you?" She checks for a bump, despite the shake of my head._

_Steps come racing down the staircase before long, and all I can do is smile for their reassurance. _

_"Did you hit your head?" Tori asks enthusiastically. _

_"Dude, you just fell," Simon says and proceeds to gloat about how he and Tori burned only the branches of a tree, but prevented the fire from spreading to the stem._

_But my thoughts are elsewhere._

_"Chloe? Is Chloe there?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"You sure did give Derek a good scare." Simon laughs. I look to where Derek last was, to find the spot empty._

_"I know," I laugh against the tightness in my throat. _

I blame this insomnia on my fear of sleeping due to the fact that I may raise another maggot-infested body or perhaps because of the storm raging outside. But I don't believe my pathetic excuses. I can't sleep because of the image of his curled body by my side, of his desperate cry for help as I fell into him. Of this unsettling ache that prohibits the most basic of functions.

I step out of bed and climb up to the roof through my window. The clouds take their anger out on the town and the rain immediately soaks through my clothing. The frozen shingles penetrate my thin socks.

"Chloe." Derek sits at the slanted edge, his back to me. Startled, I slip. My fingers scramble for purchase to no use and I brace myself for impact with the dirt, now mud, ground.

"Derek!" I call, shivering. But he already has his arms hooked around my waist. I sit up an arm's length away from him, shakily I push my hair away from my face. I tuck my knees beneath my chin, my feet safely behind the gutters.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, my whisper consumed by a roll of thunder. But he perceptibly listens.

He shakes his head, facing the violent ocean. His face is haunted, once again vulnerable. His profile is illuminated by a strike of lightening. His fingers curl into fists atop his knees, the same fingers that once scrubbed blood off my skin, the same fingers that grasped hold of me on a rotting roof, fingers that always catch me.

I inch closer to him and grasp his hand, staring down at the ground. His warm hands open and grip my frozen ones.

"Chloe," his voice catches as he tightens his hold.

"Are you alright?" I ask gently.

"I had a dream-a nightmare where you unearthed the wolves of the Pack, and they tore your throat open and you were screaming for help–for me and I couldn't move. And they laughed, they laughed because they knew that—"

I lean in, closing the space between us as he tucks escaped hair behind my ear. But I hold his hand there against my cheek. I cast my face to the shadows as I kiss his palm.

"They knew what?"

"They knew that you were my mate." He whispers.

"Y-Your mate?" I stutter quietly.

"My mate." He replies gently, nodding.

He pursues his lips and looks away, dropping his hand. His mate. Do I plague his mind, the way he plagues mine? Do I trouble his breathes, the way he troubles mine? Does he imagine doing what I imagine—

I grasp his shirt and kiss him as if though I'll fall if my lips leave his. His hands fall to his side, his lips unmoving. Him unmoving. I tear away, turning from him, a rush of color to my cheeks warming me when he chooses not to.

"This rain is rather annoying- I-I'm sorry-I'm g-going to go in-"

He takes me waist and crushes me against him, roughly kissing me. I lose my hold of the shingles and wrap my arms around his neck. His fingers tangle in my wet, tousled hair, pushing it aside to expose my neck. His lips press and pull against mine, parting to catch breath. I meet his tongue with mine, brushing against his lips. He pulls my waist closer to him as he kisses my neck.

I gasp, he groans. Perhaps I was the reason he began to smile more. Perhaps he was the reason I let go of what once was. Perhaps we were the reason we continued to breathe, despite heaving through corrupted lungs. And it's because of us that the blood still rushes to our cheeks, that our feelings are not dead and gone.

I shake from live nerve endings, from feelings that scream of love.

Perhaps this was what we were running from, running from the inescapable.

"Are you cold?" He asks gently. No, not with his warm body pressed against mine.

"I love you," I blurt out. He stills, his lips against the crook of my neck. He presses his cheek to mine and sighs.

"I love you" He draws away to glance at me, a smile live on his lips. I crush my lips against his smile, understanding there will be more, and wrap my legs around him. He picks me up, pushing my sleeve down to reveal my shoulder. He presses his lips against the curve and carefully stalks to my open bedroom window.

* * *

**Should I continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thanks so much for the reviews! I am in fact British, or rather my parents are. _**

**Soley - I'll Drown /watch?v=SnYBSAN42Hc "**

* * *

A crash resonates through the room and I've no idea whether it's the thunder, our fall into my room, or my violent heart pounding against my ribs. My lips lose the ability to speak as he crushes his against my neck. I grasp at his shirt, which serves no longer as an anchor but a barrier, fumbling with the v at his neck. Warm water begins to pool at our feet, it sticks to the wall he has me pressed against, drips from his hair, and seals my clothes against my body. And I couldn't be happier, here, with him, my nerves pulsing unbounded.

I wrap my legs around him, aware of his growing hardness pressing against me. His hands tighten around my thighs as a low groan defeats his clenched jaw. I take this moment of weakness and gently push against his chest, and send us to the wooden floor. But his reflexes challenge the forces of gravity, as he lands on his forearms beneath me, smiling. Truly smiling.

His hair no longer falls limply against his head, his acne has all but cleared, and that wall he's built for so long we've slowly torn down. There's a sudden internal shift that never fails to occur when he's near. A building pressure in my chest, a tightening knot in my core, a feeling impossible to ignore. My clumsy fingers battle with his shirt until he helps me take it off. I look over his bare torso, acutely aware of his anxious stare. "Animal" "Monster" "Brute" he was once called because of the strength he so desperately hid. Strength he only dared used for defense. I push these thoughts aside to push him down against the floor, taking his enlarged shoulders.

His hands slide from my hips upward, lifting the hem of my shirt. I press my breasts against his chest as I unsettle the area beneath his ear. His groans unsettle me.

My damp shirt rises higher to my chest with every run of his fingers over my ribs. I press myself against him, kissing his neck in encouragement. A moan passes my lips as I meet him, harder than before. He strangles a growl and my cold shirt is replaced with his warm skin.

He rolls out from under me to meet me from above. He pushes the straps of my bra down and kisses my bare shoulders, holding me by the curves of my breasts. The insignificant breasts that are only fathomable because of a strip of lace that will soon come off. Thus rather than giving him the incentive, I struggle with the waist of his trousers, fingers frantic to distract him. His fingers move to the clasp, mine tear at the fabric at his hips.

He stops, taking my hands in his, clasp momentarily forgotten.

"We can stop," he says calmly, eyes never leaving mine. But mine leave his as I weakly look down. His breathe is labored conveying anything but calm and the struggle in his hands is clear. The clenching in my center, the weight crushing my lungs is nothing like fear or embarrassment.

"No, I-I just wish I had more t-to offer you. I l-look—"

He cuts me off by meeting my lips softly with his. His takes my waist, lifting me up to press my back against the foot of the bed. My breasts grow shapely again unlike when I'd laid down, but he presses against me, concealing my chest with his. I press against him gratefully, my arms clinging to his neck.

"You lack nothing," he whispers hoarsely against my neck, squeezing my thighs. And a sudden urge to feel everything of his against everything of mine overcomes me. The ache in my stomach is relentless and it's maddening to know we've stopped. I draw back, guiding his hands to the clasp before I trail mine to the waist of his trousers.

Derek pulls the clasp apart and the tension that floods through me is inevitable.

But as he brushes my hardened peaks lightly, my lips release a moan, body leaning in to him, eagerness overcoming self-consciousness. He constantly hints at the "fact" that the other girls who men stop to stare at aren't what some deem beautiful but I would deem this a lie. If it weren't...

If it weren't for the way his body responds to mine. His erection throbs under my wet center, his head is bowed struggling for air, flushed, and the strangest groans tear from his throat, groans I elicit.

"We might be heard," he says through a choked throat. His implication is clear, he doesn't have to say my aunt's name for me to understand.

"I couldn't care less." I whisper.

Another groan as he pulls me forward, laying me down on the cold floor. He stills, his lips hovering a millimeter above my breasts, breath hitching.

"Chloe, my wolf, it's-I can't stop after this—"

"Don't"

And this is how it begins. His lips press against my breasts, sucking the stiff tip. My fingers find his hair, back arching to meet him with legs that find his hips. The noises we bring forth in the other are now unavoidable.

His fingers slip between the band of my trousers and skin before he pushes away the barriers of my underwear. He pushes a finger into my wet, throbbing center without warning. I cry out, he bites my breast, our bodies trembling against each other.

Whether it's the hitch in my breathes, the pitch in my moans, or the tightness of which I hold him, he knows I've reached this point where the pit of my stomach coils in kind agony, where a collection of nerves waits to be unbound.

I cry his name, desperate yet reluctant for him to release me. He drives another finger in, pushing deeper. I pull his hair. He curls his fingers against my pulsing walls. Another cry and I'm sure we've been discovered yet I can't be bothered to stop. His free hand lets go of my waist to cup my other breast as his thumb lightly presses against the top of my clit.

"Derek!" He is the only coherent notion that floods my thoughts as my body races to withstand the sensations that set my nerves alight, render my breathes futile, and sends my body to impossible heights as I fall.

I find his head buried in the crook of my neck, breathes swift and heavy, his erection hard against my legs. I brush away his hair, desperate to make him truly _feel_.

"Derek?" He pushes his nose against the hollow beneath my ear, deeply inhaling. He groans loudly, hands clenching the fabric covering my hips. I pull at his trousers, equally eager, and they slip past his knees. He pushes mine down, nostrils flaring. He pulls me against him, my legs wrapping around his hips. He growls, eyes skewed shut. I brush the back of his shoulders, where the muscles bulge and clench at my touch, as I push down his undershorts with my feet. He bows his head, wetly kissing me as his body tenses against my trembling one.

This fire grows higher, brighter as I'm ignited once again. His erection stands high between us, and I only vaguely know what to do with it. I wrap my hands around him, my hands giving him no justice. He inhales sharply, breath hitching.

"Derek? I don't know what—"

He grunts, taking my small hands in his large ones. He moves them up and down his shaft. He rests his forehead against mine, lip parted with eyes shut. It's in the way his breath stops, in his fixed expression and clenching muscles that tell me where he is. I move my hands faster. He buries his face in my neck in attempt to stifle his groan.

I clench tighter, wanting to take him to where he took me. His hands hold tighter to the feet of the bedpost. He cries out my name, voice savage. And it's then when his hands stop mine from finishing their reserves.

"Chloe-" His words are strangled by his rasp throat."You'll be the death of me."

I'd laugh if I weren't burning.

He hooks his fingers around the band of my underwear. I slit the top of the seam in encouragement for him to do what both he and I burn to move forward to. He tears it off in one fluid motion.

"Chloe, I must-"

"I know, be gentle." He kisses the top of my head and holds the legs that straddle him. In a hesitant motion he enters but stills as I adjust to his size. I shift and he moves forward, stopping at my barrier. I nod, bracing myself for pain. But as he breaks through there's what feels like a paper cut. And him. I feel him.

Derek watches me through half-lidded eyes that reflect only half-contained worry, a furrow between his eyes setting. I free his neck to brush the line away and I smile. And he smiles, his lips finding my throat. He bites down against the skin there, marking me with his canines, marking me as his. I grasp his biceps as I tilt my hips up to his. A surge runs through our bodies, electric, gasps setting fire to our lungs. He struggles to retain himself from moving as he doesn't even bother to muffle his groan. I am just as successful at hiding my moan as our hips connect once again. As if on their own accord, mine come down and sharply come up to take him deeper. He growls harshly.

His fingers curl against the floor, control held by mere fingertips. I smile against his neck

"Go ahead."

With the simplicity of instinct and impulse, we alter from tense unmoving links to rhythmic, perpetual connections. His hips begin to rock in sync to mine, his hesitation dimming as this fire within grows brighter. I thrust harder with every groan eventually burying him to the hilt.

I force my lips against his, one hand against the nape of his neck, raking through his hair. The other clutches his back. It isn't enough. Our tongues mingle together as I pull him forward, defying the strength of the arms that bear his weight. The sensations building only add to the desperation of our actions.

His body is composed entirely of angles and shadows and occasionally illuminated by a flash of lightening. Every muscle visibly clenches on his bare form. Every scar cleanly illustrates his struggle and constant confliction. Every inch of inescapable skin reveals what he can pretend to not contend.

Skin he only reveals to me.

These sensations become beautifully unbearable, emotionally choking me, physically consuming me.

"Oh! Derek!"He hits a particular sensitive spot. And my previous cries become whispers compared to what is torn from my lips now. The explicitness leaves little to the imagination and yet I can't bring myself to stop.

"Fuck," he groans as my muscles tighten around him. He bears his weight on one arm, his other wrapping around my waist, pulling me somehow closer. He finds it again and relentlessly strikes it.

And I begin to burn, scalded by this impossibly high fire. I cry out his name, unable to form other words. Perhaps I have not only 5 senses but more. Something entirely different than that of the tangible devices. Different that the skin that charges every nerve. Different than the eyes that see reality. Different than the lips that taste salted skin. But something of greater complexity that can only be fathomed with another sense.

It's this sense that comes alive as my heart pounds in rhythm to his with a threat to hurdle from my chest, this sense that comes alive as he cries my name in release, this sense that comes alive as the inescapable catches me.

After Derek clutches me to him, I rest my head on his arm. He kisses my lips, my eyes, and my forehead.

"You found me," he whispers against the pounding of rain.

"I love you" I whisper. Lightning strikes outside illuminating his kind face. His soft smile.

Suddenly.

"Derek! I know you can hear me!" Simon calls from downstairs. My heart spikes."Go wake Chloe and come down, Dad's found more Edison victims."


	3. Chapter Three

_Sorry for the late update, I write when I'm not well and these past two weeks have been fortunately uplifting. I hope this is worth the wait. Thanks for reading. _

* * *

"Dress. I'll meet you back here in a minute." Derek says, quickly throwing on his wet clothes. He takes my hand and presses his lips against the back of it before leaving.

I sit on the hard floor, dumbfounded. On their own reserves, my fingers brush my swollen lips, my red neck, and the deep mark of his claim.

I race to my closet when the sky bellows with thunder and throw on a mere shirt and shorts, skipping the "essentials". I open the door to find Derek waiting outside. He paces, hand anxiously sweeping through his hair.

His eyes meet mine and his gaze immediately softens. "There are two wolves."

"Well then, let's go meet them." I say lightly, heading for the stairs. The fret is clearly scripted on his face, his jaw twitches, his lips seal into a tight line, and he seems to grow 2 inches taller. I'm not surprised when he takes my hand, stopping me.

"They might be dangerous, Chloe." He says softly, urgency bleeding into his words. He remembers the Pack, his dream, the way they toyed with me to elicit a reaction from him.

I want to reassure him, hug him to show him I'm here, but that will only add sensation to his fear. "If they were of the study then they're likely our age and harmless. And I know without a doubt you can protect us."

His grip tightens and he pulls me behind him as we race down the stairs. Silence swallows the house and deafens the sitting room where everyone uneasily shifts in their seats. We come to a halt in the threshold as if there is a force blocking us from entering. That force is the glares of the wolves.

"This is Chloe and Derek," Kit says gesturing towards us, cutting the tension with words like knives.

"I know. I heard." The male werewolf says bluntly. "Those madmen enhanced my hearing abilities." He furiously dries his short brown hair with a towel, distrustful green eyes shifting between Derek and I. My cheeks burn aflame.

"Chloe, Derek, this is Mark and Elle."

"They're brother and sister," Aunt Lauren bites. A pang runs through my chest, I tighten my hold on his hand.

Elle stands, dark eyes scanning Derek. She stalks up to him, resembling more of a cat then a wolf. Derek stares down at her, muted fury consuming his glare.

"How did you find us?" Derek growls, dangerously low. I want to warn her to yield but his threat is lost to her as she jabs his side with an elbow.

"I found you refugees thanks to you. You see, they altered my sense of smell. As of now you're angry but were recently in high spirits." She smirks at Derek, eyebrows raised. She turns on me abruptly, smiling as I stumble against Derek's arm, "You were happy before but are now cautious because he—she jerks her thumb at Derek—told you to be on guard, hat's off to Mark for that."

Mark bows his head and touches his brow in an exaggerated gesture. Tori claps, playing his game. He looks at her, surprised, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Another boy walks in from the kitchen with a bag of potato chips.

"And I'm assuming you're a sorcerer?" Derek asks the measly boy that throws himself on the couch beside Mark.

"I am Scott," he says, pushing up the glasses that slip down his nose."And I prefer wizard."

"What is wrong with you?" Mark sneers."I cannot imagine what they have done to you—"

"You sensed me through this storm? And were up at 1 a.m. searching, in this specific town? Do you see the holes in your plot?" Derek crosses his arms, cutting Mark off. "How _did_ you find us?"

Elle strides away from him, laughing. "Kit, he's mad. Entirely mad. I think he's the most paranoid out of the lot of you."

"Can we trust you?" Kit asks seriously and her laughter ceases. She flips something out of her pocket and slashes down on Derek's arm. A knife, she slashed down with a knife. His arm surges blood and Kit and Lauren say things I can't hear over the thunder in my ears. I grasp a pillow and press it against his wound, trembling. He looks down at me and brushes damp hair away from my forehead, smiling. "I'm fine, it's only a cut."

"It's only a cut," Elle says as she cuts her arm. They're the mad ones I realize. I press harder attempting to clot the blood. But Derek knows something the rest of us don't. His nostrils flare and his expression changes to that of confusion.

"You're my—"

"Sister," Elle says, wiping the blade against her leg."You're my brother."

"We found Derek's record, all of yours actually," Mark explains as Lauren wraps their gashes. "I hacked into their database and found Derek, son of Zachary Cain, born 1991. Our records claim that we are also pups of Cain, we are also 18 years old. We were unbelieving until..."

After thousands of words, endless miles, and countless frowns, I sit astonished, curled at the base of the wall as their story comes to an end. I look over to Derek, who sits with slumped shoulders as if too heavy of a burden for him to carry, back bent as if in defeat, and hands limply at his sides as though he isn't sure what to do with them. He's stunned beyond speech. I reach over and take his hand, my fingers lacing with his. All eyes lie on him now, waiting for a reaction. But he won't do so much as glance up.

Never has he cut himself open in front of everyone as he's done now and I realize he'll soon fall apart or more likely stitch himself back up, and remain closed off to them from this point forward. And I can't let him torment himself by secluding behind his high, impenetrable walls.

I yawn, "It's late and they must be tired. They'll need a room to sleep in-" I widen my eyes at Tori and direct my gaze at Elle.

"We don't have enough rooms set- and we can't let them sleep on the couch after what they've been through. Elle can bunk with me, but we'll need more rooms. Umm—"

"Derek can come to my room, and Mark or Scott can bunk with Simon. The other can take Derek's room—"

"I'll take Derek's room if I'll be alone," Scott interjects. "After 7 months of sleeping with them in the same car you'll have to understand my need for space. I have the right..."

The pointless argument he begins that no one counteracts gives me the ideal time to slip away. I stand, pulling Derek up with me. I guide him up the stairs as he once did running down. My arms are around him the moment the door of my room shuts.

Unresponsive at first, he tightly winds his arms around my waist and buries his face in the crook of my neck. We stand here, my head against his chest, still except for the pounding of his violent heart.

"Chloe, what am I to do?"He asks quietly. My insides twist into knots.

"Anything but push them away." I reply gently. "They're family now, not only biologically but like Simon, Kit, and Tori..."

"And you." He whispers, pulling the strings in my chest taunt. He kisses my neck, I hold on tighter to his. My heart picks up to match the rate at which his beats. "Do you remember them? Before Kit rescued you?"

"No, the group I was part of casted me out. I-I think that's why Kit chose me."

"Do you wish he hadn't?" I ask breathlessly, running my fingers over his chest.

He groans, grasping my elbows."Never."

Heat ignites in my chest and spreads to the region between my legs as I trace my fingers over his abdomen. He clashes his lips against mine, determined to show what he can't find the words to convey.

I rid him of his unnecessary shirt, parting but he immediately meets me again, clutching me impossibly closer. I wrap my legs around his hips, the shyness that once slowed me gone.

We fall against my bed where his hands take the impact. He looks down at me, the fire in his eyes dimming.

"What do I speak with them about?" He asks, the glow of his skin paling.

"You'll ask them what they want in their pancakes tomorrow at breakfast."

"Yes, pancakes." He nods. "Everyone loves pancakes."

His hands resume to slip off my shirt that no longer serves purpose.

—

The clock reads a quarter past nine when I wake. To shift my legs is to move two boulders, to twist my back is to roll around in pins and needles. I silence the screaming nerves with a murmur. Perhaps louder than a murmur as hands begin to brush away my matted hair. I look up to find Derek awake and alert.

"You're in pain," he states.

"Only sore," I assure him.

We lay in silence listening to the pitch of old rain dropping everywhere below. I stroke the slight hair on his chest, he plays with my now golden hair.

"Chloe," he rasps as if in pain as he pulls me closer."I don't know what I've done to deserve you."

"You degrade yourself," But it is I that is in pain as I trace the scars he inflicted upon himself on the flesh of his wrists, the hollows of his ribs, and the jut of his hips."How I wish I could take these away from you. I would be lost without you. In hope I tell myself that I deserve the greatness that is you."

A slight curve of his lips, he smiles against my throat. I take his hands.

"And I hope I can help you see through your tainted perspective."

He doesn't see what I've seen so long before in him. The strength to move forward, to push past what attempts to hold him back, to surface above the waters that drown him.

"I'll listen to anything you wish to tell me," I offer as we dress in nightwear.

He pulls me to him, "You don't realize what a relief that would be." We go downstairs.

"Good morning," Kit mumbles over a cup of coffee. Lauren spills her tea.

"Morning," I greet, smiling a bit too wide.

"Chloe, I must speak to you alone-" Lauren begins.

"Did the two of you sleep well?" Andrew interjects pointedly. "It might be sometime before these arrangements change."

"That's fine, we'll manage." Derek says with a smirk. Lauren slams her cup down on the table.

In the silence that follows, it seems like hours later at which Tori, Elle, and Mark come downstairs. A wet and heavily clothed Tori and Mark argue about whether or not the storm can freeze the town's pipelines. He broads over her, his smile only further angering her.

"You used all the hot water!" She accuses him, hands clutching a coffee cup.

He holds his hands up, "The water was likewise as cold for me."

"You take me for a fool? Do—"

"What would you like in your pancakes?" Derek interrupts. I smile to myself.

"Chocolate chips, please." Elle crashes down on a chair.

"I'll have sour cream and cheddar on mine." Mark says.

Tori spits into her mug, "And I assume you take maple syrup over your eggs?"

"Actually, I prefer chocolate," he says smugly.

Elle laughs, "He's always had a peculiar taste... So Chloe, what are you cooking?"

"I boil eggs." I reply over my shoulder.

"Impressive"

"Yes, it was a skill quite difficult to master." I mock. Derek smiles beside me. Nerves tighten my stomach and he brushes his arm past mine.

"When does Simon wake?" Mark asks."I said 'good morning' and he cursed at me."

"Usually around noon, if not one," Derek answers."He's altered his biological clock, lunch is now his breakfast."

"Scott's the exact same way," Mark complains. "Warlocks."

"Excuse me?" Tori fires, anger burning in her eyes.

"Alright, then," I interrupt. "My gourmet eggs are ready! Derek?"

He sets the platter down on the table and to everyone's relief, Tori and Mark sit without another word.

Kit begins conversation with Elle and Mark once we begin to eat. With half-made attempts of coherence through mouthfuls of food they relay what little they remember of their pup years and the fresh memories of the house they were imprisoned in before escape.

Conversation turns to our records. Simon remained unaltered thanks to Kit's authority. Tori was her mother's science conduction, not a daughter but a subject to prick with needles and cut to test the rate of heal. Derek was a bastard, a child thrown into a twisted experiment to satisfy the gluttonous appetite of their sick minds. I was "the lucky one", genetically mutated before birth to live a normal life, a trial testing how a supernatural would withstand life amongst the normal.

"You're the alpha, you know." Mark tips his fork toward Derek."You have all the signs. Were the first of the pack, most likely the biggest too. And you look just like him."

Derek drops his gaze, impaling a biscuit with unnecessary force. _Him_. Their father. The person towards which he seems to feel nothing.

"And?" He growls, knuckles white around his fork.

"Just thought you'd want to know, our kind usually take pride in such matters."

"Because our kind is just fantastic." Derek states."He's dead you know."

Memories of the night on the playground with Ramon and Liam come flooding back waking me from my sleep-induced daze. Zachary Cain they had said, killed in an uprising against the Pack.

"I've found records of him in case you're interested but that is beyond the point. I have a list of subjects we can track and help." Mark's eyes drift to Kit.

"You're willing to take them in?" Derek asks cautiously. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

"Damn right I am, I should have stopped this madness when I had the chance." Kit pounds his fist on the table decidedly."Lauren?"

"Yes, definitely." Lauren nods.

"The files are on my notebook," Mark begins hopefully, "If you'd like get started."

"I too have records," Tori challenges, rising from her seat before racing up the stairs.

And so Mark rises, followed by Kit, and finally Derek. I stand to follow Tori but am stopped when Elle takes hold of my wrist. I turn to her.

"Believe me, you do not want to see the records." Whether it's something in her voice or the hint in her gaze, I drop to my seat. Derek eyes her, then sets his gaze on me, but Elle waves him away after a moment too long, "I don't bite."

Tori runs down the stairs into the sitting rooms clutching a stack of paper. Lauren fills her cup with tea.

"How was Lyle House?" Elle asks, I resist the urge to shift in my seat.

"It was terrible, the nurses intoxicated us with pills."

Elle laughs."I can imagine, honestly I _can_ imagine." She and Mark appear to have the humor that Derek lacks.

"So..." She begins again."What's happened in the past year after you've escaped?"

"Well after we escaped we moved upstate to a small town but were eventually found. It was awful, the Pack sent us corpses of rabbits and deer as if to mock both Derek and I after the time we were once caught by these two..."I ramble to distract her."So we decided to leave and come to this house in this almost ghost town, which is why we were so surprised when you and Mark came entirely—"

"Chloe did he tell you?"Her dark eyes pierce mine, fingers tracing her neck just below her ear.

I nod, silent.

"Who told you what?" Lauren asks frantically."Derek, I am assuming. What did he tell you?"

These are the times she becomes most intolerable.

"Are you always this intrusive?"Elle asks her irritated. She takes my arm once again and leads me outside, barefoot and in nothing but an old band t-shirt and flannel pants being as she has an inner furnace. Whereas I shiver in wool pajamas and damp socks.

She leads me to the gate of the yard and suddenly turns, taking my hand to prevent a fall as I slip on the frozen grass.

"You can't hurt him." She stops, waiting for me to protest. I remain silent.

"It will devastate him if you were to leave." She says voice pitching."He will fall into depression and some wolves go so far as to commit suicide. The way he protects you- I can see that he—promise me you won't hurt him."

I stand waiting for her to collect herself as I know she won't accept my comfort. My teeth chatter to fragments and my arms glue to hugging my body. Elle begins to mumble things to herself as she looks into the opposing woods. Something must have happened, whether she found a mate and had to leave him or someone found her as his mate. Whatever memory it is that suddenly changed her, she is no longer the girl that elbowed Derek in the ribs.

I'm caught between wanting to help her and needing heat. Yet I remain unmoving by her side.

After what might very well be a quarter of an hour and frost-bitten lips, she turns to me, wiping away tears. "Promise you won't—" She stops, head snapping up—"It might snow,"

And it's as if she sensed Derek coming, which she probably did, when he opens the back door. He strides towards us, eyes clouded with concern.

"Chloe, you're chilled!" Derek calls. He turns towards Elle, "Are you mad? She'll freeze out here!" He wraps a warm arm around my shoulders, taking me back into the house.

"Oh? You're right!" She mocks, a laugh returning her to the sarcastic wit I first met. A growl emits from Derek's throat as his other arms pulls me closer. I bury my hands in the fabric at his chest, thankful for the warmth of him.

"Why didn't you come inside?"He asks, letting me go before opening the door. His neutral words are laced with anger that shadow his concern. He closes the door behind me, facing me as I turn to face him.

"She was t-telling a story," I tremble. He brings my frozen hands to his lips, thawing them with warmth of his breaths.

"You frightened me," His voice rumbles against the tips of my fingers

I smile, "Right, it's not as if you always worry."

"I can't help it," He doesn't laugh, the air tightens, and his words gain intensity that humor won't permit. He leaves my hands on his chest as his take to my waist. I tilt my face up as he lowers his. His eyes drift to my lips and the reaction he elicits from my body takes control, racing the beat of my heart, shortening my breaths, and shutting my eyes. Warmth rushes to the surface. But he pulls back, hands loosening.

Mark walks in sighing as he heads to the fridge."We might have to return to New York." He offers a second glance as we separate."Kit wants to speak to all of us, but perhaps you'd like to take off your wet socks first."

My cheeks glow crimson, I drop my head to study my muddy socks. But I will not take them off. So I leave a trail on the floor that ends at the couch. Derek sits beside me, face blank of expression. Tori argues with a drowsy Simon, something they've been doing a lot recently since discovering they were siblings. Elle eventually joins us, and sits next to an irritated Scott.

"Alright guys, we're moving once again," Kit says with true optimism."Tori and Mark found several safe houses but all are located on the east coast. We'll begin in New York and move upward..." He commences to inform us of his plan, periodically stressing his promise to keep our group united. He suddenly stops, "That is unless you would rather not help your fellow freaks."

"I I" Scott raises his hand."I would love to help my colleagues but what will be our form of travel?"

Tori sighs, "Car obviously, you id—"

"We have to go by way of roads because airlines ask for identification of minors and The Edison Group would track us down."

"What about fake cards?" Scott continues to protest.

"It's really not that easy, mate." Mark answers, strangely kind. He turns to Tori and whispers, "Haven't you ever felt like you have nowhere to belong? That's his position now, no relations, nothing. Can you do so much as attempt to be pleasant?"

"Then its set," Kit claps his hands, "Pack your bags and we'll leave by noon and hopefully before it begins to snow."

I quickly climb the steps to my room, leaving behind the arguments that erupt below.

Whatever I've collected in the past months along with what I initially had goes back into my luggage. I take my camera with all recorded sunsets sinking into the sea and leave whatever I had behind. The only thing I have is this family that saved us.

A family that others deserve to have.

I've slid my suitcase halfway down the stairs when Derek comes and picks it up. His eyes find mine and he smiles, a true genuine smile, he takes my hand and pulls me closer. His lips are a relief and I want so much to become lost in him but Lauren's voice rings through the halls, calling us all to the driveway.

"Chloe, Tori, Elle, and Scott will ride in my car, the rest will go with Kit," Lauren states.

"I'll take the fifth seat with Kit," I say, for which I get daggers from my aunt.

"No," say Lauren. "We'll switch in a few days but as of now you'll come with me."

Derek takes my luggage to Lauren's trunk and nods. "I'll see you later," I whisper.

It isn't until lunch when we've reached the east end of Washington that we are allowed to leave the cars that is our cage for this snowed-in park. It's then in the cold that I see the sweat on his brow, the glass of his eyes, and the unusually pre-dominant heat radiating off his body that I know he'll change tonight.

Knowing the signs of his change better than Derek himself, I stay awake waiting for him to come in unnecessary plea. And he does.

Derek knocks on the snow-laden window, eyes desperate and wild. I open the door on Tori's side and reach for him as he for me. He picks me up from the center seat I was deliberately placed in without waking the others and the incredible heat of his body fights away whatever shivers take hold of mine.

If only something didn't come tearing through the trees.


End file.
